Page 77 of The Road to You
My fingers tighten around the phone. I stare out the window, where the moon hangs low over the fields. The same moon that Michele is sleeping under. I think about the way he kissed me last night, like he meant it, as if it were a beginning and not just a beautiful ending.
“I’ll go,” I whisper.
Vivian doesn’t sayI told you so.She just says, “I’ll send the details this evening, or morning for you. And Lena?”
“Yeah?” I whisper.
“I’m proud of you.” Her voice is so soft that it makes my heart break even further.
After I hang up, I sit there in the quiet, the decision echoing through my bones. My chest feels full and empty at the same time, like I’m gaining something and losing something all at once. Because how do you say goodbye to a summer that felt likefreedom? To a man who looked at you like you were more than your broken pieces?
You don’t. Not yet. But I know in my heart this is my path to follow.
The sun is startingto set behind the olive trees, casting a golden glow across the gravel paths of the masseria. The sky is a watercolor of apricot and lavender, and the air smells like rosemary, with a hint of a storm that never came.
Michele is in the courtyard, sitting on the low stone wall with a bottle of Peroni in his hand. He hasn’t seen me yet. His gaze is far away, like he’s watching the wind move through the leaves but not really seeing any of it. I hesitate in the doorway for a beat, heart thudding too loud in my chest. Then I step outside and walk toward him, each step heavier than it should be.
He looks up when he hears me, offering me a soft smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “You okay?”
I nod and take the seat beside him, leaving just enough space for the words we haven’t said yet to settle between us. “I called Vivian last night.”
His brows lift slightly, but he doesn’t speak. He just waits, because he knows me now, he knows I’ll get there in my own time.
I press my palms against the rough edge of the wall, grounding myself. “There’s a director. A big one. He wants to meet me. He’s in Rome this week.”
There is a beat of silence, one that stretches our hearts. Michele’s gaze is focused on me, but I’m not brave enough to look at him. Not yet.
Then he asks, gently, “Are you going?”
There is no annoyance in his voice, not a hint of anger, just a subtle hurt he is trying hard to hide. He won’t make a scene, he won’t make me feel guilty for it, but it doesn’t mean I don’t feel it just the same, deep in my gut.
I nod. “It’s just a meeting. No commitment. But I need to go.” I finally look him in the eyes, and my heart breaks a little bit more.
He looks down at the bottle in his hands. His fingers tighten around the neck like he’s holding back something he doesn’t want me to see. Hurt. Not because he doesn’t want to appear vulnerable, but to make the choice easier for me. At this point, I know enough about Michele that I’m certain he is doing it for me, not for him.
“That’s good, Lena. I’m glad.”
But his voice cracks a little onglad.
I swallow the lump in my throat. “I didn’t plan for this. I wasn’t running from work when I came here, I just I needed to take a break for a while. And then I found you. Or maybe you found me.” I laugh softly, but it’s tight, frayed at the edges. “And now I don’t know how to leave.”
He turns to me, his eyes so full of everything he can’t say. “You’re not leaving, Lena. You’re going after something that matters to you.”
His voice is soft and desperate at the same time. In this moment, I know he loves me as much as I love him, and this awareness makes my breath catch in my throat. This is the Michele I’ve come to know. Loving, selfless, and always doing the right thing when it comes to the people he loves. The same man who bought this house to repay his family for the sacrifices they made for him, the man who picked up a broken heart in Milan and healed it one smile at a time. A man who will live forever in my heart.
“And you?”
His jaw clenches. “What about me?”
“You matter to me.” The confession slips out of my mouth, and I don’t regret it because I need his help to find the strength to go to Rome and not fall apart.
He closes his eyes for a moment, like he’s bracing himself against something invisible and overwhelming. When he opens them again, they’re shining. “You matter to me too.”
There’s a silence that stretches, long and full and aching. Then he says, “You should go to Rome. Meet this director. Take the job if it feels right for you. The world hasn’t seen the best of you yet.”
His words hit me hard in the chest.
“I’m afraid,” I whisper.
